


A Sure Thing

by Shiggityshwa



Series: La Troisième Fois [1]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: AU, After Ark of Truth, Alternate Universe, F/M, First Dates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 12:10:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14934027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiggityshwa/pseuds/Shiggityshwa
Summary: A varying look at three major relationships of Vala's and how they changed drastically after a first date. Each chapter set in an alternate universe. The first story in a series of eight.





	1. Marco Polo

**Author's Note:**

> So this story can be a bit confusing to read. Each chapter is in an alternate universe meaning the Vala of each chapter is a different Vala under a different set of circumstances with a different partner (1. Cameron, 2. Tomin, 3. Daniel). I've separated them so you need not read what you do not ship. This is set after Ark of Truth, so everything up until that point is canonical. Basically, it's a chose your own adventure of sorts. This is part of currently an 8 story series, so there will be more.

1.

It is a nice gesture. That’s all it is.

 

Friday night, she’s learned, should have been a lot more exciting than what she’s used to, which is watching all her teammates talk about their plans, their dates, their weekend getaways, getting depressed, turning in at approximately nine to watch the cooking channel, because feeling abandoned doesn’t mean the cakes get any less extravagant, turning on her side away from the door and counting down until the weekend is over. Or hoping a pressing mission comes up in the next forty-eight hours, or scheming to cause a pressing mission in the next forty-eight hours.

The General dismisses them after briefing, everyone popping up in a flash leaving empty chairs spinning and she slows her solitary half rotation. There’s a clatter and then door clicks shut and if she sits here long enough the lights will flick off at no signs of movement.

But the door clicks back open and Cameron pops into the room jogging towards his seat and spinning it around once. When he isn’t satisfied he bends and lets out an exclamation while grabbing his phone from where it toppled under the table. Pausing for a second, he darts up, “Waiting on something, Princess.”

“Monday.” Crosses her arms on the table and exhaling so deeply the air flutters her bangs.

“Monday?”

“When everyone gets back.”

“What do you mean?” Slides the phone in his pocket and gestures to the door.

She sighs again, taking her time to pull up from the chair and shuffle her boots across the floor. “You all get to leave on the weekend. I’m always grounded here.”

“You still don’t have clearance to leave the complex?”

“Not yet.” The hallways are emptying with only the few members on overnights staying around. Sometimes after nightmares or when she can’t sleep she breaks protocol and wanders the hallways in her silk robe feeling like a ghost. “Even if I did I don’t know how to drive a car, so I couldn’t get very far.”

“What do you do all weekend.”

“Mostly just sit in bed and watch the food network. Did you know there is a whole channel dedicated to watching others construct delicious looking food that you can never eat.”

“Okay, we need to get you out of here.” He glances at his watch and then at her dirty off world gear. Three days of sifting through sand with an ornery Daniel, searching for tiny fragments of a specific type of crystal she couldn’t recognize and just began collecting shells. “Could you be ready in an hour?”

“If the right occasion called for it,” adds quickly trying not to spike her hopes, but also decidedly a little upset that she doesn’t get to see Cupcake Battles tonight.

“Great. I have a date—”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude.” They stop at the female locker room entrance. Sam smirks as she squeezes between them and darts down the opposite side of the hallway. A certain General is in town tonight.

Scrunches his nose and shakes his head, his skin stays the same color and doesn’t redden so she knows what he says is true. “We’re going to a bar, there’s plenty for you to do.”

“Will there be men there?” Attempts to level her voice but to be honest she’s already had her pick of the litter at Cheyenne, knows fraternizing isn’t allowed in the complex but they’ve literally left her nothing else to do. “Different men than on this base.”

“Uh, yeah?”

Pushes away from him and slides into the locker room. “I’ll be ready in thirty minutes.”

*

The bar is less swanky than she thought, more of a hay on the wall, hay on the floor, hay in her shoe type place. There is a billiards table to her right and a dart board directly in front of her. The bartender has already flashed his eyes at her and asked for ID which is either stupidity or flattery. She hands him her base ID and he slides her a beer, she would have rather had a martini, but Cameron said that isn’t going to happen here.

“Do you know how to play pool?”

“Is that the game where someone closes their eyes and yells to try to find someone around them.”

“That’s Marco Polo and it’s played in a pool.”

“Then no.”

“How do you know how to play Marco Polo?”

She purses her lips tightly and adds an exaggerated eye roll.

“Alright,” elongates his words and his hand pops up ordering them another beer. Wonders how they’ll get back to base tonight but remembers him mentioning something about an accountant driver.

The logics behind pool are straightforward as are the logics behind all Tau’ri games played with a cudgel, to beat the ever-living hell out of another objects, a ball, a piñata, a person. She taps a black ball with the side of her stick and he laughs, “no you have to use the tip of your cue.”

“Q?”

Places his beer down, raising his eyebrows to the bartender who nods and sets two frosty bottles on the counter. He taps the end of the stick. “The cue.”

“The queue?”

“For God’s sake, Vala,” chuckles and it’s unaltered and true making his eyes squint in tiny bird feet wrinkles. He clamps a fist around her bottle and yanks the cap clear off, and she stifles a purr from her throat. On any world displays of blunt masculinity always gives her internal shivers. He grabs the stick from her hand, flipping it and placing the polished end up. “Your cue.”

“Oh.” Grins and nods and jolts the Q right into the one of the balls and they all go clattering across the table, bounce out of the lovely velvet border confining them and roll to all sides of the bar.

He views her through narrowed eyes and she shrugs innocently, hoping the doll eyes and pigtails will ease his outburst.  But fortunately, that’s when his date walks in and he forgets about her mishap.

*

He and his date chat into the night. A pretty little thing with bright blonde hair and a nice blue sundress. Cameron grins, leans into her, touches her knee quickly and his date blushes and turns away. He always makes not of where she is, cranes his neck to examine the bar. She chats with a lovely man who owns a motorcycle and enjoys crocheting in his spar time, she nurses her fifth beer and eyes the dart boards because she thinks she could throw perfectly, she speaks with the bartender about his aspirations of hiking through Costa Rica.

Nearing midnight she sways before the dart board. She’s been more inebriated, been inebriated to the point of loss of consciousness before, but the rapid fire of the weak beer is starting to take its toll on her system. There are three darts the size of baby birds in her hand that she can toss across the room to the red and white rings.

“What’re you doing?” He sidles up beside her, his gait swaying a bit too. He’s might be a beer ahead of her now, and in the raucousness of the bar she barely hears him.

“I want to throw the birds, but I don’t know how.”

“You just toss ‘em. “

So she does, tosses one and it hits the board on the second ring in. She has a great eye for fine details and revels in anything that might be of a good defense to her. As a child she would toss rocks before people the make them trip and then grab their money as she helped them up.

“Not bad, straighten your back a bit.”

“Like this?” Aligns her spine and offers him a hiccup before he answers.

“Too far.” His body inches closer, knows because the warmth spreads through her hips and her behind as his arms swoop to rest on hers. “Like this.”

The feeling is amazing, sends bumps up her arms and throughout her body awakening her dulled senses. “Cameron?”

“Hmm?” His chin is on her shoulder and she shudders at his voice lapping at her neck. He smells of beer and peanuts and some unidentifiable musk.

“Where is your date?”

He bends her arms back with his, floating the dart before them as he does a mock up of the throw. “She left a few minutes ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, we really didn’t hit it off that much,” voice rumbles in his throat and his hands slip to her hips keeping her stance stationary, hot through her pants, his fingers slightly kneading through her jeans. “You have to stay still.”

“Then you have to stop doing that,” her own words hold the cadence of challenge to them as she flicks and eyebrow his way.

His eyes are heavy-lidded and his grin lopsided, his nose barely brushes against he cheek. “Throw the dart.”

So she does. It hits the wall a few feet away from the board, the needle buried deep with probable permanency.

“Whoops,” she giggles sliding backwards against him. They stumble a bit, but he steadies her with a palm on her back while the other slides from her hip to her thigh.

“Guess I’m not as good of a teacher as I thought.”

“No, I think my aim is just a bit wonko.”

He’s stares at her a bit dazed, she does the same and doesn’t try to jostle out of his hands. Part of her drowning brain is telling her something about this is wrong, not wrong just, inappropriate, but he grins and whispers with a rasp to his voice, “do you want to get out of here?”

Without hesitation she replies, “yes please.”


	2. Boar Stew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a friendly reminder that each chapter is in it's own alternate universe, however since chapter 2 consists of Vala's time in Ver Isca pregnant with Adira it is canonical and takes place in the past of both other AU chapters. For lack of elogence explaining this, both Cam's Vala and Daniel's Vala have lived through Tomin's Vala's plights. Yeesh. If you're not confused yet, read on.

It is born from necessity. That’s all it is.

 

“I cannot tell you how pleased I am that you are well enough to be mobile again.” In all honesty, she never did feel completely awful, just spent the first few weeks in the lavish bed trying to determine if she could actually trust this man, if his intentions were true or if he was planning something heinous towards her. That was when she thought the dizzying sickness she felt was left over from being obliterated and reconstructed after passing through the supergate, or what was left of it.

“Me to, Darling,” she adds taking in the town, the dusty ground as a gaggle of children scream passed causing a tiny sandstorm. Tall and medieval architecture and a bit quant with high buildings and many squares for gathering and merchants to peddle their goods. She’s never seen anything so domestic before. Even her home world where backwards tactics are still enforced, they have a working stargate, indoor cooling systems, a doctor’s office instead of each citizen being trained a little in medicine.

Tomin’s leg drags in the sand causing him to stumble for a moment before regaining his balance. He straightens himself immediately, and she notices a flush creep into his cheeks. “I apologize, sometimes I am not good at walking fast.”

She loops her arm though his and steadies her feet for both of them. “Then let’s slow our pace.”

“But you expressed how hungry you were, how jovial to see the town and the tavern—”

“Yes, and those things will still be there if we arrive just a tad later.” Squishes her fingers together so he understands the miniscule amount of time difference.

His eyes soften as they round a corner and she takes notice of the villagers eyeing them and judging them. “I do not know what I did to deserve you.”

“Perhaps it’s just because you’re a good man.” She straightens the side of his vest and brushes dust off his shoulder. She stands proud next to him, walking with intention.

“I shall give extra thanks during afternoon prostrations.”

“Yes.” Stifling her eye roll takes much of her extra strength and the rumble in her tummy indicates it’s well over her allotted time to eat.

“You are hungry.” He chuckles as they round yet another corner as they return to the square before his house. Kitty corner from them sits a quaint little building popular among the townsfolk. “Fear not for the tavern lies just ahead.”

*

It is loud inside, how can these citizens be devoutly religious and yet still drink alcohol before nine in the morning. Nine in the morning and it’s wonko because normally she’d still be back in bed asleep comfy on that Tau’ri military base where they treat her as a second-class citizen yet still allow her food and bunk for free which might have been the greatest grift she’s ever pulled.

Tomin shuffles back from the counter where a shrewd little man sits watching her in almost a trance. When he realizes she’s observing him back he holds a mug of alcohol up and almost drinks to her honor. She doesn’t understand the ticks of this city and what they mean yet, but the gesture upsets her stomach more than it already is.

“I ordered you a stew since you said your stomach is upsetting you once again.” He places a bowl before her filled with a reddish liquid and lots of lumps. The sight is appalling, but the smell is enticing. She scoops a mouthful in, then another, then another before even swallowing.

His spoon still hangs in the air halfway to his mouth as he gives her a slight smile. Then his spoon falters and returns to the bowl. “I am sorry it took us so long to get here.”

“Nothing to apologize for, Darling.” Wants to stop shoveling it in, knows her manners are atrocious, but she feels like she hasn’t eaten in days, despite having breakfast three hours ago.

He spoons his stew slowly and she resists the urge to lick her bowl clean. Ravenous with food, and dead with sleep. In the early morning her stomach toils and she cannot grasp why. She definitely knows she’s pregnant but why when she hasn’t had sex in the last few months. Daniel did undress her on that ship though, no he would have been too mousy to actually do anything. Wishes he had, at least she would give an explanation.

She leans her elbows on the table, the beautiful emerald green fabric on her heavy sleeves piles and pillows comfortably against the hard wood. “Tomin, I need to ask you something.”

He sets down his bowl and spoon, then grabs a napkin to wipe at his mouth. The bastard still has half a bowl and her fingers itch to swipe it and run. This baby is insatiable.

“Would you like another bowl?” questions without care, like it’s natural for the crazy woman who fell from the sky to eat her own weight in boar stew.

“No—well yes actually but that’s not what I wanted to ask.”

Grins and pats her hand in reassurance, “I will go get you another bowl.”

How can she flat out ask him, without it seeming too new age? There has to be a way to trick him into it and the logical answer would be to have sex with him and then announce the baby was his, but in this backwards culture and religious air it’s seen as a negative to be pregnant out of wedlock and she would likely be burned for a third time at the stake.

“Here you are.” Second bowl of stew before her hissing steam into the air and the heavenly aromatic scent of herbs. He serves her before pushing his body back onto the stool across from her.

Another spoonful is scooped into his mouth while she’s on her fifth and sets his utensil down again. “Forgive me, I believe you had something to ask me?”

“Yes, um—” There’s stew on her cheek and she doesn’t want to wipe it away because it’s a waste. Before she can act on it, he leans over and delicately dabs it away. When he leans back into his stool he’s still content and grinning. “Tomin have you ever been married?”

His head droops a bit, and he is unable to meet her eyes. In a gentle voice he states, “No. My injury has made it incapable for me to fight in the ranks for the Ori, which in turn as made me unsuitable for a husband.”

“But you’re a blacksmith, you weld beautiful weapons and necessary tools, that is a noble profession.” Something like a carrot crunches between her teeth and the sweetness of it sends prickles throughout her mouth.

“My position in the village is unnecessary and were my mother a truer believer in the Ori she would have culled me at birth.”

She drops her bowl and it clatters to the table, thankfully the leftover inch remains inside,

“Are you okay?’ his hand floats across the table to hers but retreats before it touches.

Her mouth hangs open with half masticated boar stuck in her teeth, her mind still translating his words. “Tomin, how can you say such brutal things about your mother, about yourself?”

“In the eyes of the Ori I have been deemed unnecessary.” Stirs his stew once before bringing a white vegetable to his lips. “The fact that they have allowed me to remain in this village is a testament to their kindness. I repay them with hard work and prostrations.”

The rest of her stew disappears and the blackhole of a fetus inside of her booms with remaining hunger. Two bowls will have to do, because a third is excess and she’s already the odd one out. A piece of boar glistens on his spoon towards his mouth, but his eyes focus on her and he stops its ascent, instead holding out the utensil to feed her. She gobbles up the boar quickly and it actually might be the cork she needed.

“You’re a good man, Tomin,” her hand falls to his and to her surprise he keeps still.

Fingers play under until his wiggle up and wrap through hers, “I try to herald the virtues as described in the Book of Ori, yet because I am incomplete, no woman will be my wife.”

Their hands mold together in perfection, palms flat and he sighs wistfully.

“I will.”

His spoon clatters back to the bowl and the entirety of the tavern flip their way with accusatory eyes. “What did you say?”

“I’ll be your wife.” Part of her reminds it’s just so she doesn’t get crispy again. Again again. But she knows a different part of her understands this man and his tribulations, understands how he motivates himself to be better, yet still can never be equal to others. “I would love to be your wife, I mean, I don’t know if it’s custom for men to ask the women—”

“Will you be my wife, Vala?” Asks without a pause, his hand growing clammy in hers.

She finds herself smiling. Maybe fourth time’s the charm. “Yes, I will.”

Jumps down from the stool and shouts in joy, practically dances over the floor and rests his forehead against hers, his hands on her cheeks. “I could not want for a better wife.”

“Nor I a husband.”

All grins as the joy reaches his eyes twinkling them, red and flushed skin but his words are still calm, “I will make preparations for the end of the month—”

“Oh Darling.” She grabs his sleeve before he shuffles away. “Do you think we could possibly do it any quicker than that.”

“I could make arrangements for the end of the week if that is to your liking?”

“Couldn’t we just do it now?” She doesn’t have a great lie to back it up. Wants to get to her wifely duties? But something about him seems so naïve, that he might be put off by the innuendo of sex.

She doesn’t need a lie because his face lights up again, and he tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “I could talk to the magistrate about a wedding tonight. That would give you enough time to be fitted for a gown.”

‘That sounds wonderful.”

He cups her cheek and her hand blankets his. “You truly are a gift from the Ori.”

“Darling, you have no idea.”

 


	3. Cinderella

It is set in motion. That’s all it is.

 

Paperwork is tedious, unnecessary, and limitless. Scratching a pen against Earth government regulated and printed paper. They tell her time and time again to use a blue pen, but nearing the end of the day she rushes, flutters around the lab ensuring everything from that day is catalogued correctly less she face Daniel’s wrath. When she finally remembers she has paperwork to complete, he’s gone for the night and the lab is eerie in emptiness, and she only has black pens.

Tonight, he’s in a suit and tie, looking rather dapper, and she drowns the need to fling some innuendo at him. He’s going to a gala tonight, a canopy and champagne gala, and he was adamant that she was not going to be his plus one, that he would rather show up alone than with her and although his words hit her like daggers, she huffed and brushed dust off the examination table and onto the ground. “A simple no would have been sufficient, Darling.”

Their bickering relationship is starting to take a strain on her, and not just exhausting her mentally and emotionally, the muscles in her shoulders and back are starting to ache when she lies down to sleep, well not to sleep, but to binge watch realty television.

“Did General Landry get back about moving this thing to Area 51?” He’s speaking about a smallish stone box that SG-15 brought back from an excursion to P3X-blah-blah-blah. Daniel was a little too overzealous to investigate the object and while she warned him about the symbols covering the back of the box being linked to Hathor, he opened it and received a nasty burst of ancient dust in his face. Luckily, all he did was have a small coughing fit and a bruised ego. When she flipped the box to show him Hathor’s insignia he turned red.

The reports are only half done, since her unofficial title is as his assistant, ‘assistant translator’ or some such nonsense, she’s responsible for most of the paperwork unless it’s a grave matter that requires his distinct brand of high syntax low comprehension pen scratching. She’s going to be here all night trying to explain eloquently how Daniel got sneezed on by an ancient box of Hathor’s.

“I think he’d already turned in for the night.” One of her pigtails droops over her shoulder as she turns her attention back to writing straight and perfect Tau’ri letters.

He straightens up some of the files, ensuring they’re in alphabetical order although she’s already checked them twice. At first, she thought he was doubting her literacy, but now that she’s seen him fret over it so many times, she’s starting to doubt his. “It’s a pressing matter, we don’t know what’s in that box.”  

“We do, it was a dusty gale.” His conversation makes her write and M instead of an N, so she slaps around on the table searching for that white correction liquid he started hiding from her when she started using it to paint her nails. Unfortunately, it’s not in plain view which means he’s locked it away in his desk, which then means she’ll have to start over on the report. She sighs into her hand and is surprised to find her head so hot.

“Hey.” Suddenly he’s leaning against the desk beside her, legs crossing at the ankles and his hands in his pressed suit pockets. “I was thinking about what I said earlier.”

She perks up and peels her fingers away from her face. “About the correction liquid?”

“No not the White Out, about the gala.”

“Yes?” Returns to the report, trying to decide if she can handle another reprimand about crossing out misspelled words, and then decides against it, crumpling up the whole form.

Pushes by him to the other side of the room by his desk to retrieve a new form. “You should come with me.”

Freezes her movements, paper pinched between two fingers and fluttering in the central air. “I’m sorry?”

“No, I am.” He stands tall, the suit sort of baggy on him, but hardly anyone looks bad wearing a suit. “We’re partners in this lab, and this lab was invited to the gala because of the breakthrough we made translating the artifacts from P3X-404. You should come.”

“You really want me there?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not afraid I’ll somehow muck it up and embarrass you?”

“The more you talk about it, the more I think you will.” He tilts his head towards the door. “Go and get ready, I’ll finish doing the paperwork.”

“Now I know you’re joking,” she pauses while handing him the blank report form.

“We have to leave in less than two hours so—” he nods to the door again, a little more emphatically this time and she lets the form drift to the still dusty table as she bursts out the door.

*

It’s a fairy-tale, or as close to a fairy-tale they can come without a man-eating ogre bursting through the door and threatening to scoop her up causing her to lose a shoe and Daniel to give chase for the rescue. There are exquisite, teensy white lights decorating both the indoor and outdoor of the hall, marble floors with intricate patterns and high vaulted ceilings. Outside flowering vines crawl up columns on the veranda. She never assumed she would again see such architecture or beautiful decorations after Qetesh was removed.

They arrived from the complex by chartered vehicle. When the driver hit a rather nasty dip in the road causing her knees to bump against his, he didn’t accuse her of trying to seduce him or tell her to grow up, instead his hand held her bicep gently allowing her to regain her balance. When they arrived at the gala, he held out his arm to her and she hooked hers though. When the man at the door asked for Daniel’s name, he gave it, and hers. A simple gesture that gave her more self worth than she would care to admit.

“See that guy?” Rests his head next to hers as she chows down on delicious yellow and green eggy things.

“The man with the red jacket?” Realizes her mouth is full too late before she speaks, but if he minds he doesn’t show it.

“Yeah, we went to school together.”

“Oh how lovely, and old friend?”

“I’ve always hated him.”

“Daniel,” she laughs and is surprised to find him laughing with equal joviality, not angry, or concerned, or preoccupied. Just standing so their arms touch and his voice is a hum in her ear, just speaking with her like the ambiance of the gala doesn’t exist.

“Look, I’ve got to go make rounds and explain what we did to earn ourselves a spot here.” His eyebrows raise in indication of the entire full room, a room full of people Daniel’s equal and her superior, a room full of people leaving her feeling inept. “It’s going to be boring. I’ll try to make it as quick as possible, but I think it’s best if you don’t come so I don’t have to explain the whole alien thing.”

“Yes, of course.” She wants to believe that’s the reason behind his short abandonment of her and not her lack of intelligence or social grace.

He leaves her by the food, swimming his way through the crowd and she observes while he exchanges handshakes and smiles with former colleagues and current rivals. She becomes suddenly aware of the vast amount of people, their voices combining until they ring around the circumference of the room like a tolling bell. Her head is hot again and the green and yellow eggy things drop like rocks into her stomach.

She slaps her hands together to clear them of crumbs and grabs her champagne flute before drifting outside onto the veranda. She’s the only one on the enclosed space, but the silence, the darkness comforts her. There are little paper lanterns lining the very tops of the columns and it feels more like a street festival on her home world. 

The air is clear with a stark chill when the wind blows. She rushed to get ready, to pin up her hair which hadn’t been washed in days to look presentable beside him. Carefully lined her eyes, glossed her lips, smudged her lids to look sultry, but forgot a shawl.

“Hey,” the door opens releasing the howl of the party into the air, but it subsides as it shuts. “I couldn’t find you, I thought you bailed with a famous heir or something.”

“No.” stretches a grin across her face and leans back against the cool stone fencing.

“Are you okay?” He approaches, the wind rustling up his suit jacket a bit.

“Yes, the noise—” she realizes she’s being truthful before she intends to, would usually hide insecurities or fears with a playful nudge or suggestion “—the people, it was starting to be too much.”

She expects him to pry, to poke her until she verbally spills how she feels she doesn’t belong at the gala with Earth’s smartest and, to a greater extent, at the SGC. Doesn’t really have a particular use except her extreme luck. Not much reason for a thief in the military. Instead he does the nudging, his hip to hers from the side. “You know, I never told you how beautiful you look tonight.”

Her face flashes hot again, a different type of hot she hasn’t experienced since she was a teenager, since before her first marriage. An unprompted true compliment that leaves her stomach in bubbles. “This old thing? I wore it to Cameron’s reunion—”

“I didn’t tell you because I was preoccupied with the speech I have to give tonight, or because I thought it might be inappropriate to say to a teammate.” He stares up at the lanterns, the weak light glowing from within, then he turns to her with the same glow in his smile. “I didn’t say it because I didn’t want to admit to myself how absolutely beautiful you are.”

Again, she has no words for him because she assumed after years of bantering, of mocking him that his interest in her was purely platonic. “Daniel, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying I think we should leave.”

She replaces her flute on the stone half-wall lest she drop it. “Leave? And go where?”

“Back to my place.”

The flute falls over the other edge of the wall and lands two storeys below in a bush. Neither of them cares.

“What—What about your speech.”

Thinks perhaps Daniel’s been replaced with some type of clone, with an android or something else to infiltrate the SGC but his hand touches hers, fingers linking warm and cold and the heat she felt dissipates, the inadequacy subverted. “I’ll have other speeches to give.”

“I—”

He’s close again, and she smells his cologne as he presses a kiss to her forehead and speaks softly into her ear, “tonight, I just want to be with you.”

They march through the gala, and his hand slings dangerously low around her hips, partly invigorating, partly animalistic in ownership and when they break through the front doors he kisses her for the first time, brash and heavy, his lips sticky with champagne residue and his fingers on the side of her face cool from the outdoors. As their car pulls up, they both hear him being called to deliver his speech. He ignores it, and instead holds the car door open for her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next story should be up within the week.


End file.
